


C’est ta main dans ma main doucement oubliée.

by ijustlookatpictures



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, I'm terrible at tagging, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Sledge is shot, Snafu is broken, War is hell, this hurt to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23097772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ijustlookatpictures/pseuds/ijustlookatpictures
Summary: His war is over now, his war is lost.The Japs can take them, they can take every single one of them, they can take Okinawa, they can take the Marines, they can take the Pacific, they can take America, they can take the whole fucking world for all he cares.Because Eugene is dead. Eugene is dead and nothing else will ever matter again.When Eugene is shot, Shelton’s world falls apart.
Relationships: Merriell "Snafu" Shelton & Eugene Sledge, Merriell "Snafu" Shelton/Eugene Sledge
Comments: 14
Kudos: 22





	C’est ta main dans ma main doucement oubliée.

**Author's Note:**

> This came completely out of nowhere when I was writing something else and I couldn't stop once I'd started. 
> 
> It's so not what our boys deserve, so I'm sorry in advance!
> 
> Also, apologies for my bastardised attempts at French... translations are available by hovering over them.

He screams.

He screams loudly, agonisingly and desolately.

He screams because he can't quite process what has just happened.

He screams because it wasn't supposed to be this way.

He screams because he will never have the words to verbalise the devastation that bleeds through is veins.

He screams because Eugene is gone.

He screams because it should have been him and there is nothing he can ever do to fix it.

He screams because when he stops screaming he doesn't think he'll ever breathe again.

* * *

It had culminated from a single shot as they sat in their foxholes, doing nothing spectacular or overly dangerous. Just sat there, minding their own business, waiting to receive the order to move out, ready to return to actual fighting and danger.

In fact, the day had been monotonously dull until there is a single shot fired from an unseen sniper.

The bullet cracks through the air and impales itself in Eugene's skull before anyone can even process what has happened.

He never stood a chance.

He flies backwards, blood and matter spraying from the wound, hitting Shelton squarely in the face and chest where he is sat beside him.

Eugene's limp body falls into his lap, dead before even having time to process the gunshot, eyes wide and unseeing.

The gaping red hole in his forehead starts to dribble crimson from the moment he sinks down, a ghost of a smile still plastered to his face from laughing at Shelton's impression of one of the newest Boots.

He stares at him for a moment, incredulous to what is before him, a small gasp falling from his lips as he touches his face, bringing his quivering fingers into his eyeline to view the blood splattered across his skin.

He stammers at first, before reaching for him, hands trying to cup the wound, blood relentlessly pooling through his fingers and seeping into his lap, drenching him.

'No.' He objects, as though it will make the slightest bit of difference, a hand reaching towards Eugene's cheek as he shakes his head. 'No. No. No. No. NO. NO. NO.'

He's screaming by the end of his tirade, hands clawing at his body, his shirt, his shoulders, his hands, his cheeks, his lips - trying to draw some life out of him.

He groans, reality setting in, and leans forward to embrace Eugene's body, pressing their foreheads together, oblivious to the blood and bodily fluids soaking him.

'Gene!' His voice is raw as he whines. 'Gene, wake up!' He sits back up to survey his face.

His hazel gaze penetrates him. His mouth is slackened, his teeth hang out slightly, blood is running down his face and into his mouth, darkening his white teeth, it clings to his grubby skin. Shelton raises his hand, trying to wipe the blood away.

Yet he succeeds only in smearing it across his face, his own skin too drenched to make a difference.

'You can't leave me.' He states, cradling him in his arms and tucking Eugene's head securely beneath his chin to protect him from any further endangerment. 'Wh... why would you leave me?'

Others are crouched around, looking on, silently.

It never gets easier; losing their comrades, their friends.

Each time one of the squadron buys the farm; it feels like the world will end.

Yet it doesn't. Life always goes on, the war progresses and you forget they were even there. More recruits come and go, the team adapts.

But not this time. This time, Shelton is done.

His war is over now, his war is lost.

The Japs can take them, they can take every single one of them, they can take Okinawa, they can take the Marines, they can take the Pacific, they can take America, they can take the whole fucking world for all he cares.

Because Eugene is dead. Eugene is dead and nothing else will ever matter again.

His tears are hot when they fall, the shock subsiding from his body as he finally begins to accept the sight before him. Eugene is dead. Eugene is dead. Eugene is dead.

He didn't think he had the capacity to cry, anymore. Yet tears cascade down his face like bullets.

Has he been shot too?

Because the pain that rips through his chest is unlike anything he's ever felt in his whole life. It's agony and it burns and it's like fire in his veins and it's crippling.  _ My God _ , he wants to die.

His tears escalate into sobs and his sobs crescendo into wails.

Each wracking his body, louder and louder as he clutches Eugene to his chest rocking him, desolately, hoping, as if by some miracle, his desperation will caste new life into him.

It doesn't.

He raises his head and screams into the still air, he screams because it's all he can do. There are no words, there are no actions. There is nothing to be done but scream. 

He doesn't lift his head high enough to see Hamm sat there staring emptily at them, mouth slackened tears running down his face. He doesn't see Peck clutching his stomach, all the colour drained from him.

He doesn't see the devastation on Burgie's face as he sinks to his knees, consumed by a cacophony of tears and denial. He doesn't see the way Bill walks away choking back vomit and sobs, unable to bear the sight.

He doesn't see the way other men look on, grasping at themselves to check they are still standing, glancing appreciatively towards their friends under no illusion it could so very easily have been them.

All he sees is Eugene.

'I'm so sorry.' He whispers. 'I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.' He rests their cheeks together, his skin is still warm. It's like he's still with him.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and he angrily tears their bodies away from the intrusion.

'Get the fuck off him!' He objects, ferociously. No one is going near him, no one is getting the chance to hurt him, not again.

'Snaf.' It's Burgie's voice, sounding so very broken, he sinks to the mud beside him. 'Snaf, he's.. he's gone...let them take him.'

Shelton shakes his head viscerally.

'They're not fuckin' touchin' him.' He hisses his voice cracking, as he clutches Eugene tighter, as though he may be snatched away any moment.

He couldn't keep him safe before, but he sure as shit will now.

'They ain't tossin' him a stinkin' shit-filled hole to be eaten by maggots and  _ rats _ .' He shakes his head, defiantly, stubble pressing to Eugene's tacky skin.

Despite the blood, he still smells like himself. Despite his death, he still makes Shelton feel safe.

'He... he deserves more than that...' His voice cracks. 'They ain't goin' anywhere fuckin' near him.'

Burgie reaches for him, clutching his body towards him. He doesn't resist, this time. The three of them embrace for a long moment. Tears cascading, sobs echoing in their mutual despair.

Eugene is dead. Eugene is dead. Eugene is dead.

It wasn't supposed to be this way; they were going to make it home.

At least, Eugene was. Eugene was supposed to go home. 

Eugene wasn't supposed to be here; Eugene didn't belong here. He belonged home in Alabama, with parents who loved him, safe in a classroom in college making that enormous brain of his even bigger, with a full belly and a clean bed. He deserved an un-tortured mind, a mind that wasn't impinged by the horrors of war, he deserved peace.

But most importantly, he deserved an un-shot skull. 

Shelton would willingly die a thousand deaths and spend an eternity in damnation to swap places with Eugene right now, to ensure he was safe.

'Snaf.' Burgie's voice is strained, panicked. 'Snaf, they're gonna leave without him...' He murmurs, glancing up at the awaiting Corpsmen. 'And we're gonna have to leave him here until they come back... you can't leave him out here...'

'I'll stay with him.' His voice comes out as an agonised gasp as he shakes his head desperately, another tear ripping through his body so violently he thinks his body will shard.

'You can't.' Burgie states, pressing a hand back on his shoulder.

'Fuckin'  _ watch me _ .' He hisses angrily, tenderly smoothing Eugene's hair from his face. 'You'll have to tear him from my fuckin' dead hands.'

Burgie's reply sounds too intimate, too small. 'Merriell, he wouldn't want this.'

The use of his name is his undoing.

His body loses its composure and they slump further into the mud as his resolve crumbles. He has no fight left in him but to weep. Pitifully and heart-wrenchingly weep.

'I'm sorry.' He whispers.

He raises his gaze to look into Eugene's face. He traces a thumb over his bloodied cheekbone, craving the last moments of intimacy that he knows are drawing to an end. He lowers his lips to his temple. 'I'm so sorry.' To his cheek and finally to his lips. 'I'm so sorry.' His skin is warm and soft beneath the tang of iron and grit, Shelton vows to remember that... not this.

If anyone notices the action; they don't comment. Hell, he wishes they would. A court-martialed execution would only serve in his favour. 

Out the corner of his eye, he finally notices the two corpsmen with a stretcher.

Hands reach for him and he jerks away, only for Burgie's grasp to return, grounding him with a level of rationality. He's right, Eugene wouldn't want this.

He allows himself to slowly be peeled away from Eugene, yelping like a wounded animal as he's pulled into the Corporal's embrace until only the most fleeting grip of his hand on the front of his shirt remains.

'No...' He trails off, still clutching to Eugene's uniform. 'No...'

'It's OK.' Burgie reaches for his hand, finally wrenching Eugene from his grasp. 'They'll look after him.'

'Why wasn't it me?' Shelton chokes, lowering his head to his hands, desolately. 'It should'a... been me....'

'It shouldn't have been any of us.' Burgie responds, holding him, tightly. 

A sudden jar rips through Shelton as he forces himself from his grasp. 'His ring.' He chokes.

'WAIT!' He crawls on his hands and knees. Mercifully, the Corpsmen do as directed - allowing him to say goodbye.

Eugene's lain on the stretcher, hand dangling in the mud.

Gently, Shelton reaches for his palm, the pad of his thumb brushing each knuckle as he grasps for his ring finger, peeling the signet from him. No fucking Nip will take that from him.

He touches his cheek for the last time, his eyes have been pressed closed. He tries desperately to memorise every inch of his skin, the feel beneath his hands, the weight against his own.

He grips to the last vestiges of the only happiness he has ever known, despite the depravity and the horrors of what he had seen and what he had done, meeting Eugene had felt like indemnification.

The optimistic Boot who took his shoes off on the battlefield, who imbedded his fingers into the last shreds of Shelton's humanity. Who had laughed with him and cried with him and fought with him. The one person in his entire life who had reminded him he was not a monster, he was a man. He was not Snafu; he was Shelton. A good man.

He chokes another sob, for what could have been; for what might have been; for what had been. For Eugene.

If you took the blood away, he would look peacefully asleep.

That is how he looks at that moment. Peaceful... and young; and innocent; and perfect. His perfect boy.

'Don't be frightened.' He begs, laying the hand in his grasp gently across his stomach before pressing a final kiss to his cheek, hot tears running onto his skin, mingling with the grime. 'Don't ever be frightened.'

Suddenly he's being lifted from him and he lets out a cry like a wounded animal, Burgie reaching for him once again to restrain him. To allow the Corpsmen to carry him away.

'It's OK.' Burgie assures him, arms clutching at him, cheek pressed to the side of his face.

Shelton clutches the ring in his fist, a blanket of tears obscuring his vision as he watches Eugene disappear over the top of the foxhole, with him, go his last shreds of cohesion; of clarity.

'The rats.' He chokes. 'He's 'fraid of the rats.' He shakes, desolately, shoulders quivering. 'The... the rats'll get him... he's... frightened... of rats.'

'No, he ain't.' Burgie whispers, defiantly. 'He ain't scared of nothin' now, is he?'

Shelton can only cry in response.

'He ain't scared of nothin' or nobody.' Burgie continues, pulling Shelton's hair from his blood drenched face, lips pressed to his temple as he speaks. 'He... he's gone to meet that Big Man he was always talking to... that's... that's what the bible says, Snaf...  _ he is welcomed into the Kingdom of Heaven _ . Ain't it?' He nods, as though to assure himself as much as Shelton. 'Ain't it? It's all OK... gonna... gonna be OK, Snaf.'

Shelton clutches at him silently and together, they weep.

They sit like that for a long time.

When Shelton's crying eventually stops; he's replaced by numbness. A numbness like nothing he's ever known.

Perhaps he's in shock, perhaps his heart is broken, perhaps he's died himself.

Burgie wipes his face and his hands with water from his canteen and a rag from his pocket, blood runs off his skin.

Eugene's blood.

'We... we're gonna get you some new dungarees.' He assures him, surveying Shelton's drenched uniform sickeningly. 'OK? Just... just need to wait a bit and then we'll get you cleaned up.'

Shelton doesn't answer; he stares ahead. Eyes blank,  _ what's the point? _

A new Utility jacket is brought for him, someone undresses him, peeling the stained khaki off of his body and replacing it with a clean one. He doesn't fight, he doesn't object. He doesn't do anything. He just lets them.

There are no new dungarees, but they promise to get him more as soon as they head out.  _ What's the point? _ He doesn't care; not anymore. 

He knows he's terrified them. No rational man cries like that; not over a friend; certainly not him. 

He won't speak; he can't speak.

Burgie tries, Hamm's tries, Bill's tries, hell even Peck gives it a go. But he sits there, knees tucked up, ring clutched in his hand, staring blankly.

A cigarette is pressed into his mouth at some point, someone lights it for him, but it slumps to the mud when he has no will to smoke it.

It's then that Burgie castes them all away, opting just to sit with him in the dirt as they gaze down at the remnants of Eugene's blood and brains.

He finds it bizarre how someone as clever, as kind, as brave, as strong as wise, as noble as Eugene has a brain that looks just like everybody else's. Grey and wet against the mud. It knocks him violently sick, but vomiting takes energy and he doesn't have any of that left.

_ It's wrong, _ he muses. The way Burgie sits silently at his shoulder; that's Eugene's space. That's where Eugene sits.

_ Eugene won't have anywhere to sit when he gets back _ , he thinks at one point. Then he remembers.

He will never see Eugene again.

He's remotely aware of the fact he's mumbling to himself, each thought verbalising against his lips as it passes through his mind. He's unsure whether it's cohesive or not, however, and Burgie gives no inclination either way.

All that consumes him are memories of Eugene and an overwhelming feeling that he doesn't know how to go on without him.

The blanket of darkness begins to fall when he finally speaks, the longest afternoon of his life drawing into dusk.

'Je l'aimais.' He breathes.

'Huh?' Burgie asks, still sat beside him.

'Je l'aimais tellement.' ' He repeats, a manic look of sadness crossing his face. 'Je l'aimais et je ne lui ai jamais dit'

Burgie shuts his eyes, finally accepting the fact that he's known for a while. Perhaps since that shot rang and he first saw Eugene slump.

He's always known.

It was Sledgehammer and Snafu - not just against the Japs; against the world. Despite their differences, despite their polar opposite natures, despite everything - it was Sledge and Snaf.

'I don't know what you're saying, Snaf.' He whispers after a long moment, blinking back the fresh tears.

He hasn't just lost one friend today. He's lost two - Snafu's snapped; not that he blames him.

If the rumours were to be believed they were closer in more ways than their fellow marines would care to admit. Perhaps it was true, perhaps it wasn't... not that it matters now. It knocks him ill how it even mattered in the first place.

They were inseparable brothers-in-arms, they shared foxholes and cigarettes, and rations and depravity. They slept against one another in the burning heat and the sopping mud. They carried mortars between each other and held one another as they cried and as they shouted.

If they were brothers-in-arms or more? Who could give a shit either way? Eugene is dead.

But as he watches Shelton rock, as he watches him lose his final grips on reality, he finds it fitting.

They had laughed together, they lived together. It was ignorant to presume they wouldn't have died together.

Eventually, Shelton turns to him.

'Pensez-vous qu'il m'aimait?' He whispers, before he pauses, gazing thoughtfully at Burgie as though he's just realised he's not speaking English. 'Do... do... you think he loved me?'

A look of realisation crosses Burgie's face, as he realises the tone Shelton was trying to convey. It was regret. 

'Yeah, Snaf.' He states, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder. 'More than anyone.'

He winks after a moment, attempting to inject a little humour, attempting to inject anything. 'Made me jealous.'

Shelton laughs a dry cynical laugh that doesn't meet his eyes.

'Je t'aime aussi, Romus.' He murmurs after a second, rocking himself in the mud before he turns.  'N'oublie pas ça.' He presses something into the palm of Burgie's hand as he speaks, before clutching his legs again and resting his head back against his knees.

_ Eugene is sat beside him, whispering things only he can hear. His hand on his cheek, in his hair, rubbing his back.  _

_ He's alive.  _

_ He's happy, safe and warm.  _

_ He wants to be happy, safe and warm, too.  _

_ He wants to stay with Eugene. _

'Snaf, I'm...' Burgie trails off, a sickening feeling rising in his stomach. His eyes skirt between the item placed into his hand and the way Snafu is smiling to himself, whispering to someone who isn't there. 'Just wait here... OK? Can you do that for me?'

Shelton doesn't respond.

'Merriell, can you wait here for me?' His voice is urgent, panicked.

Slowly he gives a small nod, hand brushing subtly against the hem of his bandolier.

'OK.' Burgie scrambles to his feet, patting him haphazardly on the shoulder before he claws his way over the top of the foxhole.

He blunders towards where Bill is pitched one foxhole over, expression desperate, heart-pounding ferociously. 'I need you to go get a Corpsman, now.' He begs. 'I'm scared he's gonna...'

The crack of a handgun echoes through the air before Burgie has the chance to finish his sentence. Eugene's ring slumps to the mud as his grip around it slackens in despair.

_ The last thing he feels is Eugene's laugh filling his ears and the glint of life in his eyes, beaming down on his face. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I would love to know what you think <3
> 
> * Title is from a Victor Hugo quote - 'It is your hand in my gently forgotten hand' *
> 
> ** It took me ages to figure out how the hell to add the text in the overlay and I read through walkthrough upon walkthrough that seemed to be in absolute gobble-de-gook. I found this post on Tumblr which was the only one I could understand so check it out if you're interested in learning how... then again, it may just be that I'm completely computer illiterate of anything beyond copy and paste! 
> 
> https://ozhawkauthor.tumblr.com/post/137870178842/hover-notes-or-floating-boxesin-ao3 **


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